


Satisfied

by nepenthe



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Episode continuation for 1.7 'Broken Rules', F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-07
Updated: 2011-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-23 12:46:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nepenthe/pseuds/nepenthe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Fi:  I'm talking about Sam!<br/>Michael:  And you're going to use Sam as a way to talk about us.  After.  All right?<br/>Fi:  All right.  But I promise you, if I'm not satisfied, I am going to kick your ass.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Satisfied

**Author's Note:**

> I was introduced to Burn Notice earlier this year and it quickly became my new obsession. Once I had Michael and Fi talking in my head I couldn't rest until I'd filled in some blanks (as it were). Constructive comments or suggestions are always welcome. Praise will encourage my further bad behavior (and, by extension, the characters).
> 
> Huge thanks to PSU93Girl for her eagle-eyed beta job. :)

"Hey, buddy! Listen, I just wanted to let you know that the lady friend got a big fat apology from your buddy Bly, so you pulled it off." Sam's voice was so expansively gleeful that it sounded as if he'd already had a few beers.

Michael was just out of the shower when the phone rang. He had pulled on a pair of jeans before answering and now he picked up a towel to dry his hair. "It worked out okay?"

"Oh, better than okay. I got a toothbrush here now. I think I might get that Cadillac, too. Kind of a makeup present."

Michael tossed the damp towel over his shoulder. "So there're no hard feelings?"

"No, no. I think it boosted my cred, actually. I mean I got the CSS to back off. I got some super spy juice goin' now."

Michael walked across the loft to open the balcony doors. There was a welcome breeze off the water now that the day's relentless heat was dissipating. "Glad I could help, Sam."

"Oh, uh, Mike. One other thing I want to give you a head's up on--."

"Yeah?" Michael headed towards his kitchen.

"Well, I just got off the phone with Fi a few minutes ago. You know she's been helping me with this whole girlfriend thing. And I just wanted to tell you, man to man, you'd better get ready for _the big talk_. She is comin' over there. I mean she should be there any minute now—."

The loft's door opened and Fiona walked in. Even without Sam's warning, the grim expression on her face would have set off alarm bells in Michael's mind.

"Gotta go." Michael hung up and set the phone down on the kitchen counter. "Hi!" He hoped he was hitting the right note of casually happy to see her.

Michael absolutely was not happy to see her and Fiona knew it. That must have been Sam calling to warn him – not that Michael shouldn't have already known why she was here. She had told him two days ago to expect this.

"So… Bly is gone. As promised we talk about us… or I kick your ass." Fiona slipped a hair clip off her bracelet.

Michael shrugged and laughed. "Fi, I don't know what to tell you."

It was going to be an ass kicking after all. Fiona gathered her hair into a loose bun and secured it with the clip. "You promised, Michael."

Michael ran the towel over his shoulders and then tossed it onto the counter. "Yeah, I promised to talk about it. I didn't promise I'd know what to say."

Fiona unfastened her watch and dropped it onto the work bench by the door to show him she wasn't kidding. She continued removing her bracelets as she spoke. "I just want to know where I stand. I've been here a while. It's been fun. Is this going anywhere?"

Michael rolled his eyes, hating this conversation already. "Fi, do you remember when we were together? We were profoundly unhappy. I still have scars to prove it. You remember?" He pointed to his chest and then his arm. "Dublin? Germany?"

Fiona gave him an enigmatic smile. "Yes," she said quietly.

"I just can't do that again," he admitted.

Fiona tossed the last of her bracelets onto the work bench and started walking slowly towards him. "So you want to be with someone else?"

There was a trace of hurt in her voice and Michael instinctively moved closer as he tried to explain. "No. Fi…"

He stopped a couple of feet away from her and wished there was an easier way to do this. Moments like this were exactly why leaving was his first and favorite option. After all they had been through, though, he really did owe Fi the unvarnished truth.

"As unhappy as we were, I don't think there's anyone I could be with that would make me happier than you."

She suddenly looked so small and unhappy and Michael almost wanted to take the words back. Yes, she sometimes made him miserable, but she was one of only two people in the world who truly understood him. What's more, even if she didn't always agree with his motivations, Fiona was always there for him. She might have shown up to take care of him all those months ago out of spite, but their once-tempestuous relationship had (mostly) mellowed into an alliance built on trust and mutual respect. And yet, deep down, he had always known the ghost of their past relationship was someday going to rear its ugly head.

It hadn't all been bad. Some of it had been fucking fantastic. Every now and then he could still feel the heat of those long-ago fires when she'd sprawl across his bed like she had every right to be there. He really ought to get a second chair for the loft, but then he wouldn't catch the lingering scent of her on his pillows late at night. Sometimes he found himself watching her when she wasn't paying attention, his gaze moving appreciatively over the sleek curves of her body. The way she scowled in concentration as she built a bomb and the sure dexterous movements of her fingers could send a frisson of desire through him. Ditto for the way her lips closed around a spoon when she ate yogurt.

But their relationship, such as it had been, was over. It had to be over – for both their sakes. He couldn't offer her anything these days but friendship and the occasional tactical favor. Fi deserved far better than he could give her, at least in the romance department.

"I don't know if that's good enough," he added apologetically.

She frowned at him. "It's not."

Fiona started to turn away and then whirled back to nail him with a hard right. He blocked it purely as a reflex. She countered with a swift punch that just missed its intended target and caught him in the stomach instead. Fi continued with several more blows in rapid succession that drove him backwards across the loft. He blocked one particularly hard punch with his elbow and it ricocheted to catch her on the jaw. Fiona cried out and turned away.

Even though she had started it, he still felt guilty. "Oh sorry! Sorry, Fi!" Michael held up his hands in a truce. "Fi, I didn't mean that."

She exhaled and glared at him, clearly not believing him.

"Fi…" She started to circle closer and he knew she was out for blood now. She had that little cat grin that always meant trouble. "Fi—." Michael braced himself for the next round, expecting anything.

What he got was a swift kick to his left hip that threw his balance to the right just in time for her to strike him there. He hooked one arm around her shoulders but she evaded him by dropping low and sweeping his legs from beneath him in one smooth motion. Michael landed hard on the floor with a grunt, staring up at the ceiling in surprised pain.

"Fi, now hold on. Hold on." He held his right hand up in a gesture of surrender.

Fiona took hold of his hand, her grip so firm he immediately regretted giving her an advantage over him. "Wait," he pleaded. "Wait, wait, wait, wait…"

She bent down and kissed the center of his palm. Her tongue darted out, taking a playful taste and he laughed at the sensation. Before he could relax, though, she had bent his hand back and he yelped in pain. Fiona didn't let go of his hand or ease the painful angle she had bent it into so he stood up, trying to take some pressure off. He pulled his wrist free and made a grab for her right shoulder but she easily spun free of him.

Irritation coursed through him. He had never tried _not_ to win a fight. Judging by her smirk, she knew damn well he was holding back and his refusal to fight was amusing to her. Did she honestly think she stood a chance if he chose to actually fight her?

Michael pointed at her, giving her one last chance to back out gracefully. "You're going to get yourself hurt."

Her eyebrows raised and she squared her shoulders in silent acceptance of the challenge.

"Stop it," he cautioned as she advanced on him. "I'm warning you."

This time when she rushed forward, he was expecting it. He blocked her kick easily.

"Fiona--," he tried to reason with her, but was cut short when she landed a solid punch on his left shoulder. No more Mr. Nice Guy then. The next time she went to strike him he grabbed both her wrists and wrestled them behind her back.

Too late, he realized she was twice as dangerous now that she was flush against him. Michael hadn't been aware of his half-hard erection until her belly was pressed firmly against it. She gave him a triumphant grin and leaned in to kiss him.

"No." Michael released her wrists and threw her onto the bed. His intention was to walk away – run, if necessary. But before he could step back she had hooked her ankles around his neck and pulled him down hard onto the bed. He landed on his back with her on his chest. She scrambled quickly to pin him, coming down firmly on his groin and sending a molten rush of heat through him. Her hand pressed down on his neck and he instinctively grabbed her wrist with one hand while his other went for her throat.

For a couple of seconds they glared at each other as they each tightened their grip. Michael gave in first, letting go of her wrist and splaying his fingers to show that he wasn't going to fight anymore.

Fi's hand moved from his neck to his cheek, her caress soft and unexpected after all that violence. Her hair had come unpinned, setting free wild tendrils that brushed against his wrist where he still loosely held her neck. Her pulse beat frantically beneath his fingers. The feel of her astride him stirred up bittersweet memories of making love to her.

Michael's lips parted instinctively as she began to lean closer. One kiss, he thought. Maybe he owed her that much. She was only inches away when the still-rational part of his brain reasserted itself. He had to stop this, had to explain to her that it really was over between them. Michael surged up quickly and rolled them both, pinning her beneath him.

Fi let out a startled gasp that caught him right at the root of his rapidly engorging penis. He was trained to be aware of his surroundings, but now all he could feel was the throb and pulse of his body nestled tightly in the vee of her legs. His right arm was around her shoulders, his hand cupping the back of her head. Her eyes narrowed in defiance and her knees tightened on his hips as she readied herself for the next round.

God help him, he really wanted to hear her make that breathy gasp again. His own breathing had turned harsh as his mind fully processed how amazing her body felt against his. Unable to resist the impulse, Michael cupped her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed and he felt the tension leave her body.

One kiss. One kiss wasn't going to hurt anybody. One kiss didn't have to mean that they were involved.

He leaned down and touched his lips to hers. The feel of her mouth on his was far more intoxicating than he had remembered. One kiss became another and then another, each one longer and deeper. Her small hands stroked and smoothed his hair, combing from his ears to the back of his head. Pleasure flowed like a slow wave over his skin, running ahead of her fingers as they cupped his jaw, then slid along his neck to his shoulders and down his spine. His flesh woke up as it remembered her touch. No one else's hands had ever been so firm and so fearless. Soon they were clinging to each other, their hearts beating wildly as their bodies shifted and their hands stroked shoulders and faces in a kiss that broke and found itself over and over again.

Dizzy and breathless, Michael left a trail of kisses along her jaw and down her neck to the pulse beating frantically in the hollow of her throat. Fi always seemed like so many hard edges and tight angles and he had forgotten just how soft her skin was, the faint sweet taste of her. He gathered her up, wrapping his arms around her to lift her off the bed as he knelt in the center of it.

"Fi." Her name was muffled in their kiss, and all the response he got was a sort of wordless sound of affirmation from deep in her throat.

She left kisses on his jaw, his forehead, his nose, his chin – anywhere her mouth could reach. Michael took hold of the edge of her tank-top, wanting to get to the fever heat of her bare skin. She pulled the garment off, tossing it carelessly behind her into the dusk of the loft.

Michael sleeked his hands down her spine and around her sides and cupped her small, firm breasts in his palms. Her body was sweet perfection and he was amazed at how vulnerable she seemed when she dropped her guard and let him get this close.

Fi breathed out in a long shuddering sigh. Her head tipped back and her spine bowed when his mouth trailed from the side of her neck down to her collarbone. He nibbled slowly along her shoulder and then circled back to continue down to her breast. She hummed and smiled and cradled his head in the crook of her arm. Her cheek rested against his hair as his mouth closed over her left nipple. His tongue was like heated velvet, his teeth careful as they scraped playfully over her sensitive nub. She grabbed a handful of hair to urge him on. He took the hint, suckling her with a little more strength.

It was sensory overload. "Michael," she groaned and arched into his mouth.

His head lifted, his expression as dazed as she felt, his mouth open and his lips wet. Michael's body twisted and suddenly she was sprawled beneath him on the bed. His hand smoothed slowly over her breast, across her stomach, and then lower still, slipping just beneath the waistband of her leggings. Fi's legs fell open in wanton expectation. Seconds later his fingertips had found the heat and dampness between her legs.

Fi caught her breath at his feather-light, teasing touch. His slow, patient fingers eased the lace of her thong to one side. She let out a long hard groan when he slicked into her wetness, teasing her with a barely-there touch. His middle finger brushed lightly over her clit as his mouth closed over hers again, swallowing her moan of delight.

She gripped his head, holding him to the kiss while his hand stroked over her so lightly and slowly that the sensation was little more than a delicate shiver against her flesh. Impatient for more, Fi tried to arch up against him. He ignored the hint and continued to experiment, moving the tip of his finger first to one side, then to the other. All at once he got it just right and she gasped his name, turning her head sharply as her fingernails dug into his shoulders.

"There?" he whispered and gave her a smile as his finger circled lightly over exactly the right spot.

"You bastard," she muttered. He only ever smiled like that when he thought he was being charming, but that grin was, in all honesty, nothing but smarmy. Of course he was pleased with himself right now - he had her right on the knife's edge of a massive climax from nothing more than a few strokes of his finger. All at once she remembered the sexiest, scariest thing about loving Michael Westen. The man's powers of concentration combined with his ability to read subtle cues could drive her absolutely insane with need when his goal was pleasing her. God, this was a major factor in why she had never really got over him.

"I already told you, either I'm satisfied or I kick your ass."

He kissed her shoulder, his finger making delicious circles on her clit. "I'm trying, Fi."

Fi stroked one hand between them to cup the heavy bulge that had been pressed against her hip. "Maybe you should try harder."

She pushed him onto his back and opened the button and zipper of his jeans. He arched up to help her slide his jeans and boxers down onto his thighs. Fi left him to finish working them off his legs in favor of getting the rest of her clothes off. Everything got tangled at her ankles when her pants caught on her shoes. It took both of them to solve the suddenly-complicated puzzle of how to unfasten the buckles on her shoes. He worked on the left and she on the right. There was a double clunk as they each dropped a shoe on the floor at the same time.

His hands sleeked up her leg, over her hip, guiding her down onto her back as his body settled on top of hers. They kissed again and she could feel the thick throb of him against her entrance. It was surreal to realize that she was actually here, with him.

 _"As unhappy as we were…"_

His earlier words to her still hurt, though, and she found she didn't want this to go any further if they were never going to be together again. "Did I ever make you happy, Michael?" she whispered.

He blinked slowly and froze, his body tensing. His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over her bottom lip. "I never said it was all bad, Fi. It was just bad there at the end."

Fi's mouth thinned in tacit agreement. "But did I ever make you happy?" she persisted.

Michael kissed her forehead. "Lots of times, Fi. Remember that weekend we spent in Slane? I think that's the happiest I've ever been."

"Me, too." It was enough to know that she had made him happy. It meant that she could do it again, if he'd let her. Fi smiled and wrapped her legs over his hips to encourage him to keep going.

Michael pushed into her, past the initial resistance of her body. He made slow thrusts, re-learning his way as her body closed fast around him. At this moment, with their bodies joined in unexpected reunion, he wished that things could really be this simple between them.

Fi's world had narrowed to just this moment, this man. He was the vault of heaven over her, his shoulders a wide arc from horizon to horizon. The muscles of his arms were carved out in the dim half-light, twisting and flexing with each stroke as his weight shifted slightly. She kissed the notch between his collarbones and the long, tendoned line of his throat.

His hands moved under her, lifting her higher against him. She smothered a cry into his shoulder as he drove into her so deeply that she felt her throat tighten. Michael snatched her up, dragging her onto his lap again as he sat back on his heels letting gravity seal her body on his. His arms tightened across her back as he buried his face in her hair.

"Oh my god. That's good," she groaned.

"God, Fi…" Michael couldn't remember anymore why this was such a bad idea. She pushed on his shoulders and he fell back willingly, his head at the edge of the bed. Her hips lifted and dipped, driving a strand of low, faltering groans out of his body. His hands sleeked over her thighs as something almost like homesickness ebbed through him. He had missed this - missed her. He had missed the connection that he'd only ever had with Fiona.

It had never been his choice to leave her. He had told her as much a couple of weeks ago but he couldn't bring himself to actually tell her how much he'd missed her. She knew better than anyone that lies came as easily to him as breathing. The only thing he couldn't fake was this. Being close to her like this was the most honest he had ever been with anyone. He couldn't tell her the words she wanted to hear, but he could give her the satisfaction she'd asked for.

Michael surged upwards and twisted. Fi held him tight as they rolled together, till he was on top and she was on her back. He drew away from her and she caught her breath, wide-eyed, as he turned her hips to one side. He took her again, pushing into her in one long merciless slide that made her groan out loud and grab a handful of blanket. The angle of his thrusts was deeper and rawer, the friction sweeter and sharper. He rocked against her, her behind cupped and cradled against his hips. Her hands stroked over the heavy muscles of his chest and arms , slick now with exertion.

"Good?" he asked, his face tense with concentration.

"Oh… god…, yes." The words came out of her in breathy jerks, caught on the rhythm of his thrusts. Her body was winding and tightening and sharpening its focus, until all she could feel was him and the burning interface between them with perfect clarity. She was going to --

White out. White fire. The perfect blast of heat without the power to burn. Hot waves drenched over her skin and through her body. When she came back to herself, Michael was still building a steady, relentless rhythm. He was always so single-minded; it was at once amazing and frightening to be the absolute focus of his attention. Each thrust lifted her and knocked the breath free from her lungs. The smell of sex wreathed around them and mixed with the eucalyptus scent of his shampoo from his recent shower.

"Remember this?" He pulled away again and his hands guided her, turning her onto her stomach, bringing her up onto her knees.

Fi moaned when he pushed in this time, deeper than deep. Her spine arched and curved as her nerves tightened to pleasurable, singing wires. "Yes," she whispered.

"Christ, yes," he groaned. "Fi--."

Her body melted, a soft falling away into pure pleasure that so surprised her she was unsure it had happened until after it was finished. The bastard had done it - she was satisfied. In fact, Fi felt as though she was nothing now but liquid and heat and utter, utter exhaustion. She slid down onto her stomach, her arms limp and her eyes closed. Michael went with her, his hands gripping tightly to her hips as he rocked and thrusted, his movements much harder and more reckless than he had ever been before.

Michael felt as if all the secrets he'd ever tried to learn were locked there, deep inside her. She was so small, so tight - he was never going to truly get inside her but he was certainly giving it his best effort. She infuriated him so much - she was so stubborn, so beautiful and so, so deadly. It had taken him years to stop dreaming about her and he knew that this little setback was the equivalent of an alcoholic falling off the wagon.

He never should have kissed her. He should have listened to his instincts and walked away. He'd known that if he kissed her it was going to end like this. He'd kept her at arm's length for months because Fi always played havoc with his self-control. Now, on the ragged edge of that control, he could feel the stress of the last six months fading. All his anger and frustration from being burned was melting away in the honest heat of her body. This was why he'd never been able to forget her. Fi was the only one who could release him from his self-imposed isolation.

"I missed you," he admitted, "Fi, I--." He wasn't sure if she heard him or even if the words were intelligible because as he said them the fiercely withheld tension of his body turned into a single exhilarating wave that broke and flowed away. His body slackened and he dropped down, pinning her beneath him. His hips made a few more reflexive thrusts, trying to hold on to the euphoria. His hands clung to her sweat slick skin as he drowned in the almost-forgotten sensation of being safe and whole.

"Fi--," he whispered. She shuddered beneath him and he realized he was probably squishing her. He used the last of his strength to pull away from her and flop onto his side.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, unsure he was apologizing for his graceless dismount or the years of separation. He stared into the dimly lit loft and winced. His best defense against her had been that there wasn't anything left between them. They'd both known that was a lie, but now it was a lie he would never be able to sell.

She hadn't answered him so he turned onto his side to check on her. "Fi?"

"Mmm," she murmured. "S'okay. I'll kick your ass tomorrow."

End


End file.
